


The Hipster Wedding of the Century

by Katarin



Series: The Hipster Wedding of the Century [1]
Category: Bandom, Bandom: Chitown Hipsters, Hip Hop RPF
Genre: M/M, Marriage, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-22
Updated: 2010-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katarin/pseuds/Katarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick and De'Mar get married for free swag</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hipster Wedding of the Century

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Not true, all my apologies to Nick, De'Mar, Ellen and Kanye

When he finally gets back from Vegas, Nick picks De'Mar up at the airport and tells him all about Dan and the AK crowd. He goes on and on about Bill playing him some song over iChat and how Ryan J owes him money again and that no matter what he says, Al Smith didn't drink him under the table. All the important shit that De'Mar missed because of his weak ass trip to Vegas.

"What's the point of Vegas without me?" he asks, nudging De'Mar. "I mean, seriously, who loves showgirls more than I do? Who loves gambling and free drinks and buffets as much as me? Oh dude, speaking of buffets," and he tells De'Mar about this sweet vegetarian buffet that opened up down the street.

He totally meant to ask De'Mar about his trip, how it went and what he did, but he has a lot to say about the vegetarian buffet and it reminds him of this really hilarious story about something Tom did while De'Mar was on the Rock Band tour (and sure, Nick maybe got him drunk and then dared him to do it, but that didn't mean Tom had to, it was cold outside). So by the time they're back home and getting ready to go out and have dinner at the place across the street, Nick just sort of forgot.

He's ordered drinks for the two of them and is leaning forward, pointing out shit on De'Mar's menu that he wants to share before he notices that De'Mar's staring at him. "Dude," he says, tapping the table. "You're staring."

"Yeah, I know," De'Mar answers and reaches into his jacket to pull something out. "I got you something in Vegas," he says and puts a box on the table. It's plain black velvet and for a second, Nick wonders if it's maybe a watch or something. It's too small though and when he opens it, sure enough, it's a ring.

"Dude, are you giving me a ring?" he asks, looking between the simple band and De'Mar. De'Mar nods and Nick cracks up. "Dude… that is the _gayest_ thing you've ever done".

De'Mar punches him under the table and it's hard enough to give him a dead-leg, the fucker. "I'm asking you to marry me, fucker," he says, and he seriously doesn't look like he's joking.

"Dude, I'm not marrying you," Nick says, shoving the ring box across the table. "It's way, way too gay. And euro."

De'Mar leans forward and hisses, "How is it gayer than my dick in your ass every night?"

"Look, I'm not saying we're not already pretty gay, I'm saying there is a line and right now we're on this side of that line and getting gay married is on the other." Nick shrugs when he says it but De'Mar doesn't look like he's even close to giving up.

"Okay, fine," De'Mar says and rests his hands on the table. "Remember when Pete and Ash got married?"

Nick rolls his eyes. "Yeah, and?"

"Dude, what did we get them?" De'Mar asks and he looks really smug.

"What does a Beer of the Month membership have to do with..." he trails off because it hits him like a bolt of lightning. "Oh… oh _dude!_ Let's get married!" He's remembering with almost frightening clarity the tower of gifts at Pete and Ashlee's wedding and how even more gifts poured in from people who couldn't/didn't want to come.

De'Mar just grins huge and smug and Nick flips him off, pulling a pen out of his pocket and writing down all the places he wants to register. "Whatever, you're wearing white _and_ carrying the bouquet. How many candle stores do you think we can register at before it's too much?"

\---

"I'm Cheryl Smith," the woman says, going through the files on her desk and not looking up. She's clearly looking for something and seeing as Nick has that happen to him a lot, he doesn't take offense to her not standing up to shake their hands or whatever.

"Now most of this is going to be between me and the bride," she continues, and Nick sees her reach for a folder labeled _Hamilton/Scimeca_. "So no offense but I'd most like to hear what you want most out of this wedding miss… oh." She has the folder open now and looks up and Nick and De'Mar wave at her at almost the same time.

"Totally him," Nick says, pointing to De'Mar and laughing. "He's the bride!"

In her defense, she rolls with it pretty well and smiles, turning to De'Mar. "So, what is it that's most important to you in this wedding?"

"Uh, the getting married part?" De'Mar says. "The exchanging vows and signing the paperwork and all of that."

"So nothing too outlandish?" Cheryl asks, writing things down on a legal pad. De'Mar nods and Nick nudges his leg. De'Mar ignores him so he does it again.

"What, dude?" De'Mar asks, and Nick rolls his eyes.

"We don't want it too big, but it's gotta be a party and something our friends feel obligated to spend a lot of money on gifts for," he says, and when Cheryl raises an eyebrow Nick lifts his chin. "It's the happiest day of our lives; presents befitting the occasion aren't too much to ask for."

Cheryl writes it all down and then gets De'Mar's cell number, promising to call later on in the week with prospective venues and to discuss colors and stuff like that.

"Nah I get it," Nick says in the car later. "Girl talk and I'm not invited." He ducks the punch De'Mar throws his way while pulling into traffic, because he's awesome.

\---

Nick's lighting the Malin+Goetz Mojito candle in their living room when he overhears De'Mar making absent, approving noises into the phone and clicking some links on his laptop. Nick will stand by his definition of "overhear" and will deny to the death any accusation that he was eavesdropping. For one, De'Mar talks way too fucking loud to ever make eavesdropping necessary and for another, it's not eavesdropping if you're marrying the fucker.

He looks over De'Mar's shoulder at his laptop screen, glancing at the url to find it's _cherylsmithweddings.net_ and on the screen is some horrific shade of puke.

"No, sure. If you say sage is pretty hot right now I'm cool with that," De'Mar's saying and Nick's kind of horrified. He punches De'Mar and De'Mar looks back over his shoulder. "What?"

"Dude, you're not allowed to choose puke as one of our wedding colors," he tells him.

"It's sage. Cheryl said it's hot right now," De'Mar answers back defensively.

"Dude, I know what sage looks like, okay? I work with sage every day." He grabs three books on color off his bookshelf. "Look it up, that is _not_ sage. And for another, sage isn't hot. Sage is the opposite of hot. There's no sage trend, that's like saying there's a beige trend. It's bullshit. Tell her we know it's bullshit and if she's gonna try and bullshit us we expect her to do a better job."

"Umm… did you hear that or should I repeat it?" De'Mar asks, speaking into the phone. It must piss her off because De'Mar doesn't even get to say goodbye before he's being hung up on. Then De'Mar's staring at him with one of those disappointed looks on his face.

"What?" he asks, and De'Mar just shakes his head.

\---

Cheryl says they can't start picking out things for the wedding until they pick wedding colors. She also keeps trying to get De'Mar to pick the ugliest fucking colors in the world. They fight about it, because De'Mar seems to think it would be okay to use the same fug metallic blue they wore to prom for their wedding.

Nick takes matters into his own hands and shows up at Cheryl's office with his Pantone color guide and waits impatiently until she's finished with her meeting with some ginger couple who are apparently going with a sailor theme for their wedding. He has a moment when he hears them say it and it's like there's an echo in his head: _Sailor theme, sailor theme, sailor theme_.

He considers walking right then and there. He could delete her number from De'Mar's phone easy and throw away her business card. De'Mar's never driven to her office on his own so he won't remember how to get here. It could work.

De'Mar really does like her though, even if she is the sort of person who thinks sage and sailor themes are a good life choice. Nick could ditch her but it would bum De'Mar out. He feels really lame for it and he knows Tom would laugh at him so hard if he admitted it out loud but he doesn't like it when De'Mar's bummed.

"I had some ideas about color," he says, brandishing his guide and trying to smile. Judging by the way Cheryl grimaces at him, he gets the feeling it's entirely mutual.

"You want funeral colors?" she asks, ten minutes later when he has his swatches out and she's looking at them in disbelief.

"No," he says, again. "I was thinking white, brown, grey and a hint of color, like a muted, dark red. I like this one."

"And De'Mar agrees?" she asks, still disbelieving.

"De'Mar thinks it's a great idea," he answers back because it's true. De'Mar will love these colors as soon as Nick shows them to him. She smiles at him through gritted teeth and Nick smiles back.

\---

He's looking around the florist's shop, frowning at some of the seriously ugly arrangements when he literally runs into a girl at the counter. "Oh sorry!" she says while he helps her up. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

"No it's cool," he says. "I wasn't either, kind of distracted."

"You picking up something?" she asks and he shakes his head.

"Nah, picking something out." He puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. "It's kind of a nightmare."

"They're just flowers. Whoever you're getting them for, she'll appreciate them no matter what," she says, and Nick laughs.

"Yeah, no. I'm picking out flowers for my wedding," he says, and her whole face lights up.

"Me too! Or, well I'm sort of done with the picking out part. I'm making a deposit and stuff. Where's your fiancé?"

He nods across the room to where De'Mar is leaning in to sniff flowers that don't match their new color scheme and are fug to boot. "He'd actually pick those out if I left this up to him," he tells her, rolling his eyes. She grins and reaches into her handbag, pulling out a bunch of magazines.

"I'm pretty much done with all of my planning stuff," she says. "It's literally down to paying people and showing up at this point. Would you like these?" He looks at the covers and they all have names like _Modern Bride_, _Weddings_, _Elegant Bride_ and _Bridal Guide_. "They've been a lifesaver, believe me."

He shrugs and holds his arms out because they're free. If some hot chick (what, he's engaged, not dead) wants to give him free bridal magazines, who is he to say no?

He and De'Mar have a couple different choices but Nick finally picks out flowers that go well together and tries not to be too offended at Cheryl's shocked, "It looks so nice!"

"I'm a graphic designer, making things look nice together is what I do for a living," he tells her in the least smug way he possibly can.

"Well they're a wonderful choice, Sir," the florist guy, whose name Nick can't remember, says. "Here." He wraps the flowers they picked out in some white ribbon and holds them out to De'Mar. "Cheryl said you were the bride?"

De'Mar holds his arms out and Nick holds one hand up. "Wait a second, why is he getting the flowers?" he asks, because those flowers would look kickass in his office. He's got some clients coming in tomorrow and the flowers would seriously class up the place, for free.

"It's customary to give the bride a gift out of the sample flowers," the florist says, looking nervous. "Cheryl said you didn't mind being called the bride? She said it was a joke between you?" The guy looks scared shitless, like Nick's about to pull an undercover reporter and GLAAD out of his back pocket to sue him for defamation or bigotry or some shit.

"No it's totally cool," De'Mar says, probably without thinking, because De'Mar's the type of guy who likes to reassure people.

"No it's not," Nick says, pointing at the flowers the florist is trying to hand to De'Mar. "I want those flowers." De'Mar is rolling his eyes but seriously, De'Mar doesn't have an office, he'll probably just put them on the table at home and they don't need flowers on the table at home.

"I'm the bride," he says, because no one looks like they're going to do anything. De'Mar starts laughing, bent over with tears in the corners of his eyes and Nick shoves him out of the way and takes the flowers. "Thank you very much; these will look great in my office."

"So you're the bride, huh?" De'Mar asks while they're leaving. Cheryl's scrawling things in her planner and Nick pulls his jacket around him more tightly.

"Shut up, you're still wearing the dress, I'm just going to make all the important decisions and get all the free swag," he tells him, flipping him off.

"Kinky, Scimeca," De'Mar says, reaching out and hooking his fingers in Nick's belt loops to pulls him closer. Nick doesn't duck away from the kiss he knows is coming, but he does roll his eyes while De'Mar licks into his mouth before closing them and reaching up to rest his hand on the back of De'Mar's head. "Love you," De'Mar says when he pulls away and Nick bites his bottom lip.

"You're so fucking gay, you know that, Hamilton?" he asks, but doesn't complain when De'Mar holds his hand all the way to the El.

\---

Cheryl calls him three times the next day at work, asking him questions about the wedding. "Now we really should start thinking about a menu, we need to book the caterer as soon as possible," she's saying while Nick keeps messing around with Photoshop.

"We're vegetarians," Nick tells her, clicking away.

"De'Mar said you were the vegetarian?" she asks, and Nick shrugs, forgetting she can't see him.

"For now, yeah, but it's just a matter of time," he tells her.

"Aisle, alter, hymn, huh Nick?" she asks, and it's almost like she's laughing.

"I'm completely lost right now, just so you know," he tells her, trashing what he's working on and firing up Illustrator. "You started talking in gibberish."

She sighs. "Right, so we'll get a few restaurants and have them put together a vegetarian menu and you can choose from one of them and we'll have a tasting."

"Huh?" he asks. He and De'Mar went to a wine tasting once when they were on a trip in California. They just walked around and learned about grapes and got to drink all the different types of wine they made. They even got chocolate and all of it was free. It was one of the best vacations Nick's ever been on.

"You'll want to taste your wedding meal first, Mr. Scimeca," Cheryl explains, like Nick's stupid or something. He's kind of pissed she only ever calls him Mr. Scimeca and not Nick because it means he can't be rude and tell her to stop being so familiar. Bitch.

"Okay, sounds cool. Can you have the possible menus faxed over to me at work?" Nick says and they work out the rest of the details without any hassle.

She gets a couple of different places to send him menus and it's pretty sweet, all of it looks good. He tells Cheryl he'll handle it and sets up a tasting for two. He then forgets about it when he's buried in a metric ass-ton of work.

"You know it's your night to cook, right?" De'Mar tells him a few weeks later when he's been doing promo shit and Nick's had meetings all damn day. Nick doesn't want to cook and he knows for a fact that there's nothing but ramen and some leftover Thai noodles at home.

"Well we've got plans anyway," Nick tells him and drives them to the restaurant from Cheryl's list.

De'Mar raises an eyebrow when Nick explains that they're there for the Hamilton-Scimeca tasting. "You set us up with a private party?" he asks and Nick shakes his head.

"No, dude it's a tasting, like when we were in California? Only this is a full course meal. You taste it before you serve it to your guests at your wedding."

"Oh… that actually makes a lot of sense." De'Mar sips the wine they bring and he and Nick talk about the album De'Mar is working on. Then they start serving the individual courses and Nick's eyes go wide.

"Umm, we're here for a tasting?" Nick says, and the waiter nods and keeps serving. It's seriously a multi course meal. Nick's _full_ when they're done and his only complaint is that the seared smoked tofu was a little overdone.

"Thanks," Nick says when they leave. "We'll have Cheryl give you a call."

\---

He has a full week ahead, meetings and projects and stuff for AK and 44th Ward Dinner Party on top of that. It was a really good meal, a delicious meal that he and De'Mar are still texting to each other about. An hour later he's hanging up his phone and penciling dinner into his schedule for the next week. That's pretty much all the thought he gives to it.

\---

"Mr. Scimeca," Cheryl says in that tone of voice Nick recognizes from all the times Bill, Stephanie and Pete have gone off on him for something stupid he did. He sort of wishes he could be having this conversation in person (he's got twenty bucks in a bet with De'Mar that Cheryl's the sort to throw shit like Bill, De'Mar thinks she's a choker like Pete.)

"Afternoon," he says, just as cheerfully as possible because if he's about to get bitched out, he's gonna get his jollies while he can.

"Mr. Scimeca, would you be able to explain to me why I've had _six_ different restaurants call to ask about scheduling catering for your wedding?" Nick never understood asking questions you obviously know the answer to. He and De'Mar have had actual fights about it, most of which end with one or both of them walking away and the dishes still not getting done.

"Do I really have to explain to you how planning works, Cheryl?" he asks, feigning innocence. "Because of all the people to ask about this-"

"_Mr. Scimeca_," she interrupts. "It's not my policy to mislead the vendors I work with. And I don't appreciate-"

"It's not like we're not picking one," he tells her, rolling his eyes. "I just faxed over our choice."

"Only _after_ having tastings at multiple restaurants!" she argues.

"Do you have a contract or something?" he asks, sighing.

"The tasting is an _assumed_ contract, Mr. Scimeca. You might not have violated any actual pen and paper contracts but this is my reputation on the line."

"Then tell them we weren't satisfied with the quality of the proposed dinner menu," he says, leaning back in his chair.

"Every single restaurant wasn't up to your _exacting_ standards?" He's a bit offended at how disbelieving she sounds.

"I'm a man of taste. _We're_ men of taste," he replies.

Cheryl sighs but Nick would recognize a sigh of defeat anywhere. "Would you like to discuss your request for a PBR fountain at the reception now, Mr. Scimeca?" she asks, and Nick puts his feet up on his desk.

"Let's," he says. Victory is sweet.

\---

"Do you think there's a limit to how many things we should register for?" De'Mar asks, looking up from his laptop. Nick meets his gaze but doesn't stop clicking on all of the candles that came up his Amazon search.

He raises an eyebrow.

"Okay… what about a monetary limit?"

He raises both eyebrows.

"C'mon, man." De'Mar closes his laptop and sets it down next to him. "You're seriously gonna gouge our friends for gifts?"

"Dude, what the fuck do you think this wedding is about?" Nick asks, and now it's De'Mar's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Fuck that, I'd expect to get laid either way."

De'Mar gets up and sits next to Nick, leans in to his neck. He swats at De'Mar, tries to lean away. "Fifteen minutes," he says. De'Mar punches him in the thigh. "I'm buying stuff for free! You know how hot that gets me. Fifteen minutes, it'll totally be worth it."

\---

"Mr. Scimeca, I think there's been a mistake," Cheryl says. She sounds too tired to even be exasperated. He has no idea why she bothers saying it like she actually believes it's a mistake. Odds are whatever it is, he did it on purpose.

"Whatever could you be talking about, beautiful?" he asks, switching from his phone to his Bluetooth.

"You have over a thousand guests on this invite list," she explains.

"Well… me and De'Mar had to cut it down," he says. "We wanted it to be manageable."

"Mr. Scimeca… you can't accommodate this many people in your budget." He can hear a keyboard clacking in the background and Cheryl sighs. "You can't accommodate even half of these people."

"Oh yeah, I know that," he assures her. "I worked it out. I mean De'Mar and I worked it out. There's a bunch of stuff happening the same weekend we're getting married, most of which our friends have already RSVP'd for. There's no way they'll be able to come."

"Then why invite them?" Cheryl asks, because she's clearly been asleep the past few months.

"So they'll send us gifts, beautiful. Am I the only one keeping his eye on the prize? Mandatory gifts are like seventy percent of why I'm doing this."

"Seventy?" Cheryl sounds so scandalized that Nick blushes.

"I mean eighty, or… ninety-five. And don't you dare tell De'Mar differently."

\---

He's bent over on his knees, hands gripped tight to the pillow in front of him and arching back into De'Mar, moaning when his cell rings. Nick checks the display, because he always does, and does a double-take when he sees it's Cheryl. Halfway to hitting '_answer_', De'Mar punches him in the back.

"Ow, what the fuck, cuntsteak? That's not how a Donkey Punch works, wiki this shit before you experiment on me," he says, reaching back to elbow De'Mar in the stomach.

"Don't answer that!" De'Mar yells, and Nick frowns.

"It's the middle of the night," he answers.

"Exactly my point!" De'Mar smacks him in the side and Nick's phone is still ringing.

"It's probably an emergency or something," he says, presses the '_answer_' button. Cheryl says something, voice cheery, but De'Mar pulls out and Nick's too distracted to answer back. He groans low, wincing slightly, and reaches back to smack De'Mar.

"Come back!" he says when De'Mar gets up. "De'Mar, get your cock back here!" Typically, De'Mar doesn't answer.

"Umm, is this a bad time?" Cheryl asks, and Nick turns over onto his back with a groan.

"I've got an early meeting and a presentation to give right after that, neither of which I'm prepared for and now De'Mar's pissed at me for answering the phone so I'm not going to sleep _or_ get laid tonight. What I'm trying to say is, this had better be an emergency."

"Oh, well… I got a line on that PBR fountain you wanted?" she says and Nick thinks it was totally worth not getting laid tonight.

\---

Their invitations are classy. Nick will say this without feeling even the slightest bit like he's bragging because it's a cold, hard fact that he's a fucking graphic design genius. Sleek and modern without being pretentious, Nick's grateful that Cheryl didn't even bother arguing when he said he was going to design them. She just hired out a local print shop to print up a thousand of these beauties.

Cheryl says they should include a picture and starts talking photographers for some pre-wedding photos. De'Mar makes noises about hiring Tom but Nick shuts them both down because he knows the perfect picture.

All of their invitations come with a picture of Nick and De'Mar at AK in Chicago, De'Mar's arm around Nick while Nick's drinking Absolut directly out of the bottle. It had been a competition at the time, Nick versus Ryan and Al. They were both out of shot, leaning against each other because it's actually really stupid to try and drink a bottle of Absolut faster than two other idiots and none of them could stand properly by then.

De'Mar's leaning in, whispering something in Nick's ear. Only Nick knows he was leaning in enough for Nick to pour onto his sleeve, because De'Mar was wearing long sleeves and there was no way Nick was going to actually drink the whole thing. That didn't mean he wasn't about to lose.

Nick won and Ryan and Al gave up while their bottles were still a third full. They both ended up puking in the bathrooms ten minutes after they both paid Nick his winnings. Nick waited until he was home. He spent nearly an hour with his head over the toilet and De'Mar kept coming by to rub his back and put a wet rag on the back of his neck, because De'Mar's awesome.

They use that picture and Nick gets a message printed on the back of each picture. _It's a party!_ it says in script that looks a lot like Nick's handwriting. _We're registered at Amazon.com. Make sure the gifts are good, you never know when I might knock De'Mar up. You don't wanna be out of the godparent running before we even start!_

\---

De'Mar's band has some promo stuff booked. The Plain White T's are going to spend the next three weeks traveling up and down the West Coast and through Denver, Utah and Nevada. Nick tries to help De'Mar pack but they just end up with De'Mar on his back, pants down around his thighs and Nick naked on top of him.

"You're gonna have a terrible time," Nick says, rocking his hips down to get De'Mar's cock deeper inside of him. "What's the point of being in LA and Las Vegas without me?"

"I know," De'Mar answers, hands on Nick's hips and arching up. "It's going to suck and I'll be miserable without you."

Nick watches him, biting his lip while he keeps up the steady, rhythmic rocking of hips before he leans down and presses his mouth to De'Mar's. "I feel bad for you. I'm gonna be living it up here with our friends and you'll be all alone having no fun at all."

"I'll call you every day," De'Mar says, and Nick looks away, hand clenching into a fist against De'Mar's chest. "I'll call," he says again and reaches up to wrap his hand around Nick's. "I'll call so you can hear how miserable I am without you. I'll even take pictures so you'll have photo proof."

Nick turns his face so it's pressed against De'Mar's neck. "Like I said, I feel bad for you."

They fuck for hours and have to wake up extra early so De'Mar can finish packing. Nick's sore and oversensitive when he drives De'Mar to the airport, squirming a bit in his seat while De'Mar strokes his thumb over the back of Nick's neck.

"I love you," De'Mar whispers against Nick's mouth when he kisses him goodbye. Nick nods.

"Yeah, me too," he says, and for once can't bring himself to make fun of De'Mar.

\---

"What sort of favors were you looking to order?" Cheryl asks him the next day. They're having a meeting over lunch because Nick's scheduled himself for a lot of work over the next three weeks. He pokes at Thai noodles and shrugs.

"I don't know," he says, poking at his salad with a fork.

"Are you okay?" Cheryl asks, nudging Nick's arm.

"Yeah, fine," he answers, shaking his head. "What about cookies or candies or something?"

She tells him about a couple of little bakeries she knows and agrees to set up a chance to sample cookie recipes from them all. Nick nods. "Are you feeling all right, Mr. Scimeca? Usually I can't get you to shut up if free anything is involved."

"Fine," he says, shrugging. "Just busy at work."

"All right then, I'll set it up for you and De'Mar over the next few days." Nick shakes his head.

"De'Mar's out of town," he tells her, signaling for the check. "It'll just be me." She gives him the most pitying look he's ever seen and he's half tempted to leave her with the check.

Two days later he's waiting outside a bakery with his hands in his pockets, trying not to freeze his balls off while waiting around for Cheryl.

"Nick!" she calls out, waving from across the street and Nick blinks in shock. Never in the short time that he's known her has Cheryl called him Nick. "Before we go in," she says, reaching out for his arm. "I just wanted to say I was sorry for the other day. I didn't know De'Mar was out of town or that you were taking it so hard."

"What the fuck?" he asks, blinking.

"I just wanted you to know-" she begins, but Nick cuts her off.

"I'm not taking it hard! Who the fuck told you that? That's not true." He hunches his shoulders because he is _not_ taking De'Mar being gone hard. He's not crying like a little bitch over this and anyone who says otherwise is lying.

Cheryl looks surprised for a second before doing that thing where she's visibly restraining herself from hitting him and points at the door to the bakery. "They're expecting us, let's go." He goes, grudgingly, and sulks the entire time.

"Call me when you're done acting like a five year old, Mr. Scimeca," she tells him afterwards. "I'll set up the rest of the tastings and you won't be wasting my time."

Nick goes home and sulks through making himself dinner. Even watching the first three _Die Hard_ movies doesn't cheer him up. He's about to start calling people, to see if anyone wants to hang out, when his phone rings. It's De'Mar.

"So Tom tells me you're being a whiny emo bitch about me being gone," he says. Nick missed talking to De'Mar, missed his voice and shit but this is _not_ on.

"Tom Conrad? Are you kidding me?" He thinks for a second. "Did he fucking tell Cheryl? That fucker. He's a dirty fucking liar too. I've got like ten nubile coeds waiting in bed for me."

"Nah," De'Mar says, yawning. "You're wearing one of my old hoodies and watching _Die Hard_."

Nick shrugs off the hoodie he's wearing. He had no idea it was De'Mar's when he put it on; he was just a bit cold and didn't think much of it being so much larger than all of his other hoodies. "No I'm not. I'm watching, umm-"

"Steel Magnolias?" De'Mar asks and Nick wishes he were here so he could punch him.

"Fuck you _and_ Tom Conrad," he says.

"No way, even Tom's got _some_ standards." De'Mar sounds like he's laughing.

"Way to insult yourself."

"Any standards I ever had were worn away a long time ago, Nick. It's part of your magic and your charm."

Nick sighs. "Are you somewhere you can talk dirty to me? I deserve phonesex after all this abuse."

"You think I'd call you from road and _not_ be?" De'Mar asks.

"Knew there was a reason I'm marrying you."

\---

"So I heard backstage you're getting married?" Ellen asks and on the screen, De'Mar shifts a bit, like he's uncomfortable. Shawn and Kyle make catcalls and Nate throws wadded up paper at Nick. Nick throws it back but doesn't turn away from the television.

"Yeah," De'Mar says, nodding. "Not like, legally or anything, although we might be going to Connecticut eventually, maybe. It's just going to be a little ceremony with some friends and stuff." He's picking at side seam of his jeans and Nick knows from years of experience that that means he's nervous.

"Have you been together long?" Ellen asks, and De'Mar ducks his head, biting his lip.

"Since high school," he says, and Ellen smiles huge.

"That's so sweet," she tells him, patting his knee, and De'Mar just nods.

"He's my best friend," De'Mar tells her and Nick can feel himself blushing. The guys give him hell for that and even Brooke joins in, making cooing noises and kissy faces at him.

He almost misses it when Ellen asks, "So am I invited to the wedding?"

"Oh yeah, you and Portia are definitely invited," De'Mar tells her and Nick opens up his email to let Cheryl know to add two more to the invite list.

De'Mar answers a few more questions about their wedding and then Tom takes over to talk about their album and the new single. De'Mar looks straight at the camera when it pans over him. He gives it a soft smile that Nick knows is meant for him, like De'Mar knows Nick's watching him from work.

He makes everyone get back to work then. "I mean it, I'll install a fucking porn filter, don't think I won't," he says and they roll their eyes and start clicking away at their computers. When he gets up for coffee there are post-its all over the walls and they all say _Nick ♥ De'Mar _ or _De'Mar ♥ Nick_.

He doesn't bother taking them down.

\---

After this long, Nick can sort of admit that he likes Cheryl. She's still really rude and has awful taste and she gets this stupid look on her face whenever De'Mar pulls Nick up against his side and does something embarrassing like kiss him, but Nick likes her anyway. It's kind of awesome that if he's had a bad day, he can call her up just to fuck with her.

"Is it just me or are you being almost charming today?" she asks Nick while they're all out looking at a vegan bakery. Nick's not going to have them do the wedding cake because it's ridiculously expensive and they always look like ass but they're delicious and Cheryl set up the appointment so they could get free samples.

De'Mar laughs and wipes crumbs off his lower lip. "That's the Scimeca effect," he says. "It's not that Nick's actually less of an asshole, it's just that he's worn you down. Believe me; one minute you're staring at him and wondering how one guy can be such a prick and the next it's five years later and you're asking him to marry you."

"That's… that's kind of sweet," Cheryl says, and Nick shakes his head.

"That's just further proof of how fucked you are," Nick tells her with a grin.

"Seriously, a normal person would be horrified at how Stockholmed I am," De'Mar tells her.

"C'mon ladies," Nick interrupts, clapping his hands. "We leave now we can make it in time for two-for-one drinks at that bar we like downtown."

\---

They get mock ups of their favors, little cookies in the shape of triangles, squares and circles in dozens of colors and with several different cookie choices. Boxes and boxes of cookies that the baker wants them to take home so they can make their decision and Nick didn't even have to suggest it. He scored a couple dozen of the most delicious cookies he's ever put in his mouth without even having to work for it.

Getting married is awesome.

De'Mar heads down to grab the mail while Nick's messing around with their CD collection. "Fuck," he hears De'Mar shout as soon as he opens the door to their apartment. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"What?" he asks, looking back at De'Mar and noticing the big bag he's carrying. "What the fuck is that? Dude, if someone left a baby by our mailbox do _not_ bring it in here!"

De'Mar turns the bag over onto their kitchen table and Nick sort of wishes it was a baby after all. At least if it were a baby they could call social services or something and they'd take it away. "Umm… I'll call Cheryl," he says and runs for his phone.

"So far as I can tell," Cheryl says when Nick meets her later that day in her office. "Of the one thousand invitations you sent out… over half of them have RSVP'd. I'm looking at something like five hundred expected guests. Your budget is for about half that."

"Right so… what are our options?" Nick asks. He likes to think he's pretty good with shit like budgets and sudden problems. He runs his own business, he can do this.

"I don't see all that many, Nick," she answers.

"Not that many isn't _none_, c'mon, give!" Nick did this for free shit, he isn't about to let this fucking wedding leave him broke.

"Okay, fine. I wouldn't say this to anyone else but I'm barely treating this like wedding planning as it is. For some time now I've been treating this like some sort of decently sized company party."

"…And?" Nick asks.

Cheryl rolls her eyes. "The one thing that's missing is sponsorship. If you get your wedding sponsored you should be able to accommodate everyone with no problem."

It's the most brilliant thing Cheryl's ever said. "Cheryl, that's seriously the most brilliant thing you've ever said." He writes up a list and sets up the meetings and comes home to De'Mar with a huge grin on his face, dancing around his living room.

"C'mere!" he says, holding up his can of PBR. "My brilliance deserves a blowjob."

"What are you even talking about?" De'Mar asks him, because De'Mar always asks even when he knows Nick is being deliberately vague to make him ask that very question.

"The budget shit, I got it figured _out_!" he tells him and gestures down to his cock. "It won't suck itself, man." De'Mar sits back on the couch, folding his hands behind his head and Nick sits next to him, because he knows once De'Mar hears his brilliance he's going to want to give him that blowjob.

"You seriously got PBR and Absolut to sponsor our wedding?" De'Mar asks later, when Nick's pulling his jeans back up.

"Hell yes I did," Nick says, crossing his arms behind him and leaning back on them. "Because I'm a fucking genius, a business, marketing, worldwide genius."

"You fucking narcissist," De'Mar says, punching him hard in the thigh. There's way too much affection in his voice for Nick to take it personally though.

\---

Trying on tuxes is kind of weird. Cheryl leaves them to do it by themselves which was probably for the best. De'Mar tries on an all white tux, mostly as a joke, and when he comes out of the dressing room they both spend nearly five minutes staring at De'Mar's reflection in the mirror.

"So it's not just me, right? Like, this isn't wishful thinking or me being delusional?" De'Mar asks him, turning to the side.

"No, dude… those pants make your junk look fucking huge." Nick keeps moving around, trying to see them from different angles but from nearly everyone it's the same story. "I feel like I'm at a fucking Bowie concert."

De'Mar laughs and they try to get the tailor to tell them what the secret is but he won't budge. Nick can't find anything he likes and when he's honest with himself, the idea of wearing a tux to his wedding sounds kind of lame. "What if we wore something nice but not-"

"A suit?" De'Mar asks, taking off a dark jacket. "Why didn't we have that idea from the beginning?"

"Are you saying I couldn't rock a tux?" Nick asks, holding his arms out. "I could rock a tux, Sinatra style, okay?" De'Mar goes to change back into his street clothes, laughing the whole time.

\---

 

"So tomorrow's the day!" Cheryl says, voice cheery over the phone. Like he doesn't know. Like Nick doesn't have the day circled in bright red ink. Like he hasn't been drinking since ten AM this morning for completely different reasons than the ones he usually drinks at ten in the morning for.

"Yeah, I know," he says, curtly. "Did you need something?"

"Oh Nick." She sounds understanding and Nick's not one for hurting girls but he kind of wants to punch her. "Nick, it's totally normal to be nervous, okay? Everyone is nervous."

"I'm not nervous!" he tells her. "This was my idea. I'm fucking giddy thinking about all the free booze and the pile of gifts and everything."

"I'm serious, Nick." Cheryl's tone is sharper now, because she's apparently learned how to handle him. He laughs at that. She needs to handle him… like some bride out of a bad wedding comedy. "Don't beat yourself up over being nervous, it's just proof that deep down you're a real boy after all."

"Thanks," he says, sarcasm dripping from every word. "You give Pinocchio pep-talks to all of your clients?"

"Don't tell me I'm making you feel unspecial, Nick," she says. "Now man up and put down that bottle of whatever it is you're drinking. If you're hung-over tomorrow De'Mar will kill you."

She has a point, a really good one. "Hey Cheryl?" he says before she hangs up. "Thanks for… for… you know. You've been really… and I kind of… you aren't nearly as bad as I thought you were."

"One compliment would have killed you, Scimeca?" she asks, sighing. "You're welcome, by the way. I'd say it's been a pleasure but we both know that would be a lie."

\---

The thing about getting married is that no one told Nick he was going to feel like he was about to throw up the whole time. Standing there with De'Mar in front of everyone they know while the Unitarian minister goes on about commitment and love and a bunch of stuff that Nick's not really paying attention to is the scariest ten minutes of his life. He does his bit when it's his turn to say the "I do's" and puts the sweet rings he and De'Mar picked out on De'Mar's finger. He keeps his stomach in check when they kiss and for that alone he feels like a rock star.

They turn to smile at their friends and suddenly Nick doesn't feel nervous anymore. They did it, they fucking did it and now they get to party with their friends. De'Mar's dad is crying in the front row but Nick figures it's a fifty-fifty chance as to whether he's crying because he's happy or because De'Mar married him ("It's not that you're a dude," De'Mar assured him, back when De'Mar's dad spent twenty minutes asking De'Mar if he was sure about marrying Nick. "It's not even that you're a white dude. It's just-" he'd frowned, trying to figure out how to say it. "Well it's that it's _you_."). Nick can respect that.

"We wanted to thank everyone for coming," De'Mar says, beaming. Nick knows he probably has the stupidest fucking grin on his face but it doesn't stop him from squeezing De'Mar's hand and leaning in to kiss his cheek.

He pulls back and turns back to their friends, blushing a bit. "Let's go party and get shitfaced!" he shouts and everyone cheers.

\---

**Epilogue** (Included because it contains too much Kanye West to be cut and because no wedding of Nick and De'Mar's would be complete without random celebrity cameos.)

He bumps into someone outside the bathroom and when he looks up he's a bit blinded by the guy's shiny jackets. "Sorry man," he says, and then he sees who it is. "Oh my god!" He feels like a tool just coming out with it like that but he just ran into Kanye fucking West outside of the bathroom. This is the best day ever. "Why are you-?" he starts, unsure how to tactfully put a question like _what the fuck are you doing at my wedding?_ and manfully holding off on an excited _how do you feel about a threesome with me and my husband? I heard you'd be okay so long as a camera was involved and I have lots of cameras. I could even buy one if that's what it takes._

"Michelle invited me," he says, and Nick has no idea who this Michelle is but he thinks he might call up every Michelle in Chicago and thank them for this moment. "I was looking for an excuse to wear this new jacket." It's a great jacket, a weird amount of embroidery but it's _Kanye motherfucking West_, he can pull it off. "Congratulations, by the way, you two seem pretty happy. The ceremony and reception are great too, so fresh, really, really gay, you know? It's one of the things I really love about you guys."

"Oh yeah, thanks," Nick says. "I planned most of it. Put together the color scheme and picked out the flowers and centerpieces and silverware and everything." He bites his lip, trying to hold back but he just can't anymore. "De'Mar and me are just, _huge_ fans of yours. We just think you're really, really talented and like a fucking genius."

Kanye nods. "Yeah, me too. It's been nice talking to you. I have to use the bathroom though before my seared tofu gets cold."

"Oh yeah, me too! And I've got a lot of drinking to do. Thanks again for coming and everything!" He waves him off and heads back to their table. "De'Mar, you will not believe who I just ran… hi Ellen."

Ellen and Portia are sitting next to De'Mar, leaning forward and laughing about something. Nick knows from surreal. He's incredibly close friends with Pete Wentz; surreal is his livelihood. None of that prepared him to run into Kanye coming out of the crapper or Ellen and Portia giggling with his husband.

"You must be Nick! I was giving De'Mar here some tips about married life," Ellen says and holds out her hand. Nick shakes it and De'Mar laughs at him so Nick elbows him.

"Thanks for coming," he tells her, both of them really. "I didn't know you were serious about wanting to come."

"We were in town," she answers, shrugging.

"Well it's an open bar, so… good choice!" Nick thinks he might be babbling but between the stressful day he's had, Kanye, Ellen and all the booze he's already drunk he thinks he's entitled.

Ellen laughs and grabs his hand. "Let's dance, Nick," she says and Nick goes with her, grinning all the while.

**Author's Note:**

> I blame stealstheashes for coming up with the idea and marksykins for becoming my Free Bridal Shit Yoda and telling me about ALL of the stuff she'd actually gotten for free while getting married. Huge thanks to my beta quarterturn. Thanks as always to riorhapsody for letting me snippet at her.


End file.
